make such an accusation? She heard nothing but the thumping of
her own heart. Without considering the consequences, Lally formed a fist and
swung it sideways, up and into his laughing jaw.
The emaciated man looked at her incredulously. For a
moment, she felt nothing but self-satisfaction. And then Lally could hear
again. Over the din of the hurdy-gurdy, the skinny man yelled and the fat man
backed him. What was she playing at? Where did she get off hitting a
stranger out of the blue like that? A stinging pain shot through Lally’s
arm. Her hand throbbed. When had this tremendous crowd appeared?
When she turned to flee, she ran directly into the
king’s chest. She dared not look into his eyes, fearing the disappointment she
would find there. Ducking under his arm, she flew as fast as her feet would
carry her, through the dark night, to the palace. Stomping down the kitchen
stairs, she scooped up her mantle and threw it over her silver dress before
Cook caught sight of it. “Well, where in the name of all that’s good have you
been? I said half an hour, hairy animal!”
“My apologies,” Lally panted, wincing at the pain in
her knuckles. “But the girl with the golden hair appeared at the festivities
once again. She wore a gown as silver as moonlight and she punched a man in
the jaw. There was such excitement, I simply couldn’t leave.”
“The girl is back? Is she still out there?” Cooked
begged, racing towards the staircase. “I’m going to have a look. You make the
soup and be sure not to…”
“Not to get any hair in it,” Lally said to herself,
for the cook was out of earshot.
Slipping the mantle from her shoulders and throwing
it in the corner, Lally filled a bowl with cold water and seated herself on the
furs. Plunging her sore hand into the soothing liquid, she hoped that
malicious man’s jaw stung worse. What horrendous cruelty. How could people
say such things?
In her small closet, Lally removed her gown and
replaced it with snakeskin and tattered silk. But, then, what if there was
some truth in what those horrible men said of her? She collapsed into layers
of peltry. What if tales of her rampant carnality had lured her father from
his hermetic life? Or was her womanly form to blame? Her father had not seen
her since childhood, and suddenly she was full-grown and looking too much like
her mother. Perhaps she had tempted him in the copper gown with the low
front. Perhaps her face, her hair, her body, were too lovely to resist.
Perhaps father’s lunacy was entirely her fault.
No! How could she think that way? Father was
affected. Lally petted her scalp where he’d pulled her hair. Did it still
feel tender, even one year later, or was she imagining the ache? A queer sense
of emptiness took over as she sat staring into the oven’s flames. Feeling
nothing, neither pain nor joy, she watched the fire dance. Red, orange,
yellow. Its heat warmed her face. Again, her knuckles ached.
Rising to prepare the bread soup, Lally reflected on
life’s unfairness. Endlessly, she toiled for the king and in returned received
nothing more than a dark closet in which to sleep. What did he know of her
efforts? Nothing! What did he care for her? The whole world hated the hairy
animal she’d become.
When the king’s soup was prepared, Lally placed in
the bottom of the bowl the golden needle from her mother’s dresser. Perhaps
the king would choke on it. He deserved to. As she waited for Liam to arrive
for the soup, Lally paced the floor. She stood, she sat, she lay in her
closet, but pain shot through her hand. Her legs were a bundle of nerves. Too
restless to remain indoors, she enrobed herself in peltry and left the kitchen,
traipsing through the vegetable garden and into the woods.
Chapter Seven
Wandering wounded and alone, Lally came to the cave
in which she had met Great Bear on her journey
her own heart. Without considering the consequences, Lally formed a fist and
swung it sideways, up and into his laughing jaw.
The emaciated man looked at her incredulously. For a
moment, she felt nothing but self-satisfaction. And then Lally could hear
again. Over the din of the hurdy-gurdy, the skinny man yelled and the fat man
backed him. What was she playing at? Where did she get off hitting a
stranger out of the blue like that? A stinging pain shot through Lally’s
arm. Her hand throbbed. When had this tremendous crowd appeared?
When she turned to flee, she ran directly into the
king’s chest. She dared not look into his eyes, fearing the disappointment she
would find there. Ducking under his arm, she flew as fast as her feet would
carry her, through the dark night, to the palace. Stomping down the kitchen
stairs, she scooped up her mantle and threw it over her silver dress before
Cook caught sight of it. “Well, where in the name of all that’s good have you
been? I said half an hour, hairy animal!”
“My apologies,” Lally panted, wincing at the pain in
her knuckles. “But the girl with the golden hair appeared at the festivities
once again. She wore a gown as silver as moonlight and she punched a man in
the jaw. There was such excitement, I simply couldn’t leave.”
“The girl is back? Is she still out there?” Cooked
begged, racing towards the staircase. “I’m going to have a look. You make the
soup and be sure not to…”
“Not to get any hair in it,” Lally said to herself,
for the cook was out of earshot.
Slipping the mantle from her shoulders and throwing
it in the corner, Lally filled a bowl with cold water and seated herself on the
furs. Plunging her sore hand into the soothing liquid, she hoped that
malicious man’s jaw stung worse. What horrendous cruelty. How could people
say such things?
In her small closet, Lally removed her gown and
replaced it with snakeskin and tattered silk. But, then, what if there was
some truth in what those horrible men said of her? She collapsed into layers
of peltry. What if tales of her rampant carnality had lured her father from
his hermetic life? Or was her womanly form to blame? Her father had not seen
her since childhood, and suddenly she was full-grown and looking too much like
her mother. Perhaps she had tempted him in the copper gown with the low
front. Perhaps her face, her hair, her body, were too lovely to resist.
Perhaps father’s lunacy was entirely her fault.
No! How could she think that way? Father was
affected. Lally petted her scalp where he’d pulled her hair. Did it still
feel tender, even one year later, or was she imagining the ache? A queer sense
of emptiness took over as she sat staring into the oven’s flames. Feeling
nothing, neither pain nor joy, she watched the fire dance. Red, orange,
yellow. Its heat warmed her face. Again, her knuckles ached.
Rising to prepare the bread soup, Lally reflected on
life’s unfairness. Endlessly, she toiled for the king and in returned received
nothing more than a dark closet in which to sleep. What did he know of her
efforts? Nothing! What did he care for her? The whole world hated the hairy
animal she’d become.
When the king’s soup was prepared, Lally placed in
the bottom of the bowl the golden needle from her mother’s dresser. Perhaps
the king would choke on it. He deserved to. As she waited for Liam to arrive
for the soup, Lally paced the floor. She stood, she sat, she lay in her
closet, but pain shot through her hand. Her legs were a bundle of nerves. Too
restless to remain indoors, she enrobed herself in peltry and left the kitchen,
traipsing through the vegetable garden and into the woods.
Chapter Seven
Wandering wounded and alone, Lally came to the cave
in which she had met Great Bear on her journey
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